


Day Five

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: The entirety of his magic sat in the cupped palms of his hands: a little cold to the touch, pulsing faintly, the size of a small bird tucking its head down into the feathers of its breast.So fragile; so unbearably precious. With the royal line and oracles gone, what magic was there in the world save this? He wasn’t entirely sure why he still had it. Ignis held it close to his chest, feeling the way it was his own – channelled through Noct but kept in himself, formed and fitted and tended to within his bones, hanging like baubles from his soul. It was his; it grew from him, like plants out of his earth. It was Noct's; it had been given to him to keep by Noct. It had always been Noct's, and for that it was more precious than anything Ignis had held before.





	Day Five

**Author's Note:**

> For Ignoct Week, day 5: Simple: Constellations/Situational: Ignis manages to use the last of the magic in him to bring Noctis back from the dead when he finds him on the throne.
> 
> Obviously I'm late haha but I thought I might as well try finish in my own time.
> 
> Not beta read but any concrit is welcome. Thank you for reading! Also I'm on Tumblr as [Fatranchu](https://fatranchu.tumblr.com/) so please come chat is you want <3

The sun had set, though Ignis couldn’t tell. He'd been alone for the first time in a while when he’d walked out of Hammerhead in no particular direction, and ended up here. It was five days since Noct’s death.

There was a frustrated agony surging inside him, restlessness like pain that had been building and building, and it had finally got the point where he couldn’t ignore it. He needed to stop it, he was sure, before something bent so far as to break – he just didn’t quite know how. It was maddening. It coiled inside him, this frustration. Was it grief, or something else? The loss of Noct. The loss of everything he was meant to be. He'd known it was coming, and yet– It made him want to pull out his hair, tear at his skin, snap his own bones to turn himself inside out. He wanted to run and not stop running. He’d only just managed to stop walking. It made him want to do something very, very stupid. Instead, he found a seam of magic inside himself, scraped his nails across it until it frayed, and pulled. It hurt, burning through him like he was tearing out deep blood vessels, but he pulled and pulled anyway, just to destroy something – anything – even if it were himself.

Noct was gone. Noct was dead, after everything he’d done and all he’d gone through – each moment of suffering, each heartbreak, each and every time the Astrals decided to take something more from him, again and again until the point where they took his life.

He could feel the magic pool in his hands. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want any of it. He pulled until he was empty then scraped down the insides of himself just to make sure, following the contours of his skin, squeezing out each of his organs, leaving himself scoured out and clean. The entirety of his magic sat in the cupped palms of his hands, a little cold to the touch, pulsing faintly, the size of a small bird tucking its head down into the feathers of its breast.

So fragile; so unbearably precious. With the royal line and oracles gone, what magic was there in the world save this? He wasn’t entirely sure why he still had it. Ignis held it close to his chest, feeling the way it was his own – channelled through Noct but kept in himself, formed and fitted and tended to within his bones, hanging like baubles from his soul. It was his; it grew from him, like plants out of his earth. It was Noct's; it had been given to him to keep by Noct. It had always been Noct's, and for that it was more precious than anything Ignis had held before.

He let it go, dropping it from his hands, and heard it shatter on the floor. The pieces lay about his feet in bright constellations. He sent them away, and they left.

The loss stuck in him, halfway between hunger pangs and going blind. He felt too hot so he lay down on the dirt ground, on his back, limbs askew. It was almost funny how melodramatic he was being. At least no one was here to see it.

Prompto found him the next morning, covered in dew and running a mild fever.

‘I thought,’ Prompto said, all but vibrating with an anxiety not quite turned to relief yet, ‘man, I thought you’d done something stupid. I – Ignis – you really freaked us all out.’

‘I think I did,’ Ignis murmured. The sound of the car engine drowned him out.

‘Huh?’

‘Do something stupid. I think I did...’

There was a pause. ‘Please don’t say that. Dude, come on.’

Another pause, longer. ‘What did you do?’ Prompto said.

‘No. It’s nothing.’

He was tired. There was something missing in him, and it ached. But perhaps that was Noct, and grief. Perhaps he was more feverish than he’d thought.

They drove in silence for the rest of the way.

When they got back Prompto killed the engine and jumped out almost as soon as the car rolled to a stop. 'Found him!' he said. 'Just decided to go on a nice stroll. Everything's fine.' His voice had a sort of forced brightness, as if he could make everything fine purely by the force of his conviction. Or maybe he was just angry.

Ignis got out and hesitated. 'We're in bay twelve,' Prompto said.

'Ah. Thank you.'

Prompto must have been talking to someone, but no one spoke as Ignis made his way round the back of the generators – all switched off, and their silence made him feel sick even when he knew they didn't need to be on any more. He went the long route to where they were keeping Noct's body, because he knew Prompto at least would be watching him, and he didn't want him to know where he was headed.

Of all the unflattering and inglorious things that Ignis hoped would not be making the history books, the treatment of Noct's body was insignificant but nonetheless on the list. No one could quite decide what to do with him – he deserved a dignified funeral with a proper tomb, but they hardly had the resources for that – so he'd ended up in the walk-in freezer in Takka's diner. At least they hadn't cremated him yet.  
  
Inside the freezer, ignoring the cold, Ignis reached out to feel for the table they'd laid him on. He found Noct's leg, stiff from ice rather than rigor mortis, and moved to stand by his head. He traced his hand over Noct's shoulder, over the folds of his cold shirt, resisting the urge to cover him with his jacket. Up his neck, he cradled Noct's jaw in his hand. His ear was frozen solid, his hair contrastingly smooth and soft. His face was hard, cold, uncompromising beneath the pads of Ignis' fingers. Ignis' magic was settled over his mouth, hindered by his frozen lips, closed and unyielding.

Gentiana said, next to him: ‘Do you know what you're doing?’

‘No. But I'm going to do it anyway.’ He surprised himself with how steady his voice was. 'I'm not an adviser any more; I can't be expected to be sensible.'

Gentiana didn’t say anything more. Perhaps she was already gone.

The magic beat against his fingertips. Ignis pressed down, very carefully, and pushed it into Noct's mouth.

For a long moment nothing happened. Then Ignis slipped off his jacket and placed it over Noct, as Noct began to shiver.


End file.
